#141 Mamihlapinatapai

by Janelle Menorca

During the brightest hour of the day, I hear my name being called. “Jude!”

Ah. Even my name sounds different when she utters it. I turn to my right and find her car crawling to match my pace. The window’s down. She’s smiling intensely. Her hair cascades like a waterfall around her shoulders. She’ll never be more perfect than this moment.

“Marion.” I yell back.

She’s thinking of something to say. And my line of thought’s already at: 1) wanting her to ask me where I’m headed to, 2) wondering “would she?”, 3) knowing my answer if she does and hoping she’d 3) ask to come along.

She does ask me where I’m going.

“Lunch.”

“Alone?” She asks with mild surprise.

I scratch the back of my head, pretending I have no idea. “I’m craving for sushi. So . . . ”

I leave it there. Not giving her an invitation, but offering an opportunity. In silence we stand. The road—long and quiet—fills the space between us. She’s thinking again. And I’m wondering it, piecing together clues to figure her out.